


One and/the Same

by Anonymous



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Forced Masturbation, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Paranormal, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possession, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Martin looks down at his hand, flexes his—Malcolm's—fingers. It's curious at first, like he's not quite used to the idea of being in control, and then he slowly touches it to Malcolm's chest. Malcolm feels his heart kicking under his palm, but even it no longer feels like his own.“We should take a break, then," Martin says. "It’s been a very eventful morning, hasn't it? Perhaps you need to...unwind."[for whumptober no.15; possession]
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright (mentioned), Malcolm Bright/Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63
Collections: Anonymous, Whumptober 2020





	One and/the Same

**Author's Note:**

> it's just martin, controlling malcolm's body, jerking malcolm off. that's it. no lore no rules just porn.
> 
> :]

“Relax, my boy.”

Malcolm watches from the prison of his own body as his father, controlling his entirety, moves Malcolm’s legs and swings Malcolm’s arms, bringing them in front of the mirror on the wall.

“Look at you.” He adjusts the tie around his neck, almost proudly. “Always such a handsome, well-dressed, behaved young man when you visit me, aren’t you?”

Malcolm can’t even blink of his own accord. He can’t say a word. He can’t breathe unless Martin takes a breath. He’s never been more terrified, and he can only watch himself, frozen.

He can think. It’s nothing he understands, the way Martin seems to be able to read the thoughts he sends out. He thinks, _Dr. Whitly,_ and Martin tilts his head, looking into his eyes in the glass.

“Yes?”

So much fear he’s choking on it, it’s all he can feel. He doesn’t understand how this is _possible._ It isn’t possible. It can’t be, because the cell where they put Martin Whitly, the one he’s been avoiding for ten years until recently, was more than enough. Something has gone wrong, very, very wrong, something beyond anything Malcolm had ever expected. This shouldn’t be happening. This _can’t_ be happening. It’s a dream. It has to be a dream…

“It’s not a dream, my boy. Would you like me to pinch you so you can be sure?”

_How...how…_

“An explanation would take far longer than we have together. This is temporary...I’d rather not waste it. You understand, don’t you?”

_Stop this. Please. Did you want to frighten me? You’ve succeeded, Dr. Whitly._

“Oh, no...don’t be afraid. I’ve done it countless times...perfectly safe…”

Malcolm doesn’t have the mental capacity for this. He just wants to have himself back. _Then stop. I won’t be afraid if you stop. You’ve had your fun...it can end now._

“Oh, my boy. I haven’t had _near_ as much fun as I plan to.”

He steps closer, licks his lips— _Malcolm’s—_ and groans softly.

“What I wouldn’t give to taste you with my own mouth, just like this.” He does it again, then rubs the pad of his finger across his lower lip, and Malcolm feels a shiver go through him. "Mmm…"

_You’re sick! Get out of me!_

Instead, Martin smiles. Seeing his own face twisted up in such malicious joy is something Malcolm is never going to forget as long as he lives.

If he lives.

“I’m not going to _kill_ you.”

_I already wish you would._

“Well…” Martin looks down at his hand, flexes his fingers. It's curious at first, like he's not quite used to the idea of being in control, and then he slowly touches it to Malcolm's chest. Malcolm feels his heart kicking under his palm, but even _it_ no longer feels like his own.

“We should take a break, then. It’s been a very eventful morning, hasn't it? Perhaps you need to...unwind.”

Malcolm _feels_ Martin’s intent, protesting long before Martin’s hand ever slides down...and then up under his shirt.

_Stop! No, no, no! No! Don’t touch me, you sick fuck—_

Martin chuckles. Makes _him_ chuckle. Every word spoken with Malcolm's voice, every sound he makes his own...maybe there’s some part of Malcolm still attached, because he can feel sweat starting to drip down his back even in the coolness of the loft.

“Oh, no…don't be scared.” Martin murmurs, biting on his lip as he twists a nipple between two fingers, and though Malcolm feels his body gasp it still wasn't his choice, was still Martin's reaction. He can feel it, feel everything, but he's trapped in silence.

"This is going to be interesting," Martin says, unbuttoning one button, then a second, looking in the mirror again. “I’ve never gotten off in another body.”

_Don’t you fucking dare._

“Oh, please, Malcolm." His fingers keep working, until he shimmies out of the shirt entirely, leaving it to crumple to the floor. "You can’t expect me to believe you haven’t thought about this. Well…” He laughs softly. “Not this _exactly._ But I’ve seen the way you look at me, Malcolm...you can’t tell me I’m wrong.”

_You’re wrong!_

“Okay, you can tell me, but I know I’m not. And you know it. Oh, Malcolm…I can _feel_ that you know it. Don’t forget, I’m inside you. Inside this fractured little psyche of yours.”

Malcolm whimpers. The very idea that his father can see, feel, _know_ everything he’s ever thought, especially about _him..._ it’s not right. It’s a violation worse than what he knows is about to happen, and still, he’ll deny it to his last breath.

_No._

Martin hums, pinching his nipple again. “Perhaps I need to be inside you another way.”

_Fuck...stop._

Martin ignores him, pulling out his belt and starting on the zipper. “A shame I’m a bit...limited, right now. I can’t fill you like we both want.”

_Fuck…don’t touch me. Don't do it. Don't!_

Martin’s hand slides into his pants anyways, and Malcolm screams. Tries to, anyway, hears himself echoing distantly and succeeds in some way that only Martin can hear.

“Oh... I've never been able to hear them screaming before. You're strong, Malcolm. Well...of course you are. You're my boy. My blood. I wonder if I can hear you moan, too. Let’s see, shall we?”

Malcolm pulls as hard as he can, concentrates everything he has into moving, but there’s nothing he can do. Martin shifts his touch, down to the base and then back, shuddering as he does.

_Stop! Oh, no…_

“What’s wrong, my boy?”

It doesn't feel good...it can't. Why doesn't his body understand it's not _him?_ It's the familiar feeling of his own hand, but it’s still combined with the corruptionof his father's sins, and somehow, some terrible way, it seems not to make a difference as his cock starts to fill out.

Martin coos. Malcolm is never going to want to hear his own voice again. “Nothing’s wrong at all, is it? Your body certainly seems to be healthy...working well…”

_Please stop. You’re disgusting, I—I don’t want this!_

“We both do,” Martin murmurs, biting his lip as he starts to stroke, looking into the mirror again. Malcolm watches his own mouth drop open, letting out an exaggerated pant for air, watches Martin raise his other hand to toy with his nipple again. It makes him— _Martin?_ Them both? He doesn’t know anymore—hiss in a breath between his teeth, and Martin has warped his face into something sinister, his smile wicked.

“Look how beautiful you are, Malcolm. Do you ever take the time to appreciate yourself? Look at your throat work...the way your hips look when they move…”

He moves his hand up to grasp Malcolm’s throat, to squeeze just hard enough to make it an effort to breathe, to make every inhale whistle. “My God...my boy...you’re perfect.”

_Oh, God...stop…get...get your hands off of me._

Martin doesn’t. He tilts his head back, releases his throat, and strokes up to his face, over his cheeks, still never breaking the eye-contact in the mirror. “Malcolm...you’re so beautiful. Daddy’s pretty little boy.”

_Fuck!_

Martin bares his teeth, grunting. “Does that feel good? I know it does...we’re feeling the same things.”

It does. Malcolm hates that it does, feels betrayed by his father and his mind and his body, but it doesn’t stop the pleasure from zinging through his nerves, starting to cloud everything else.

_Dad...y-you have to stop. Please stop._

“Ssh,” Martin says. He covers Malcolm’s mouth, moaning, and then sticks two fingers into it, sucking on them as his eyes flutter. He shifts until the pants fall all the way down, stepping out of them, completely baring Malcolm’s body.

“Malcolm,” he mumbles. “ _Look_ at you. I’ve waited so long to see you like this...all for me. My most perfect creation. _Mine._ ”

Something, _something_ about this, _anything_ , should be making it impossible to get off. Instead...instead...the way Martin is speaking about him…it’s...

_Ugh...shit..._

“I would make you feel so good. Far better than this. You know I would. I would give you everything you ever wanted. Everything you _need._ ”

_Dad...fuck…_

“Yes, that’s it, Malcolm.” He reaches down, spreads his cheeks, and slips one of his fingers inside. His hips buck forward into his hand, and Malcolm cries out at the same moment Martin does. “That’s it. Give into me. There’s a part of you that wants this so _badly,_ doesn’t it? Let me see it, Malcolm. Show it to me.”

Malcolm says _no,_ but he knows he doesn’t have a choice. Martin knows that, too. He’s helpless.

“You’re always helpless to what I want, Malcolm,” Martin says, sinking in a second finger. “Ah—oh…”

_Ah! Not like this. Not like this…_

“Perhaps that’s the problem. You should always be like this. Just like this. Spread on your fingers for me, fucking yourself with them just like I want. I’d like to see this from behind...but then I would miss these expressions. My boy...pretty as a picture.” He pushes them deep, speeding up his strokes, and starts to groan with every breath.

“ _Hell_ …Malcolm, listen to that. Is this what Gil hears, when he’s got his cock buried in you? Hmm?”

_W-what?_

“I’m inside you, Malcolm. I know everything about you, now. You tried to hide that from me for so long...worried what I’d do...or is it something else? Were you embarrassed? Perhaps you’ve thought about someone else, when he’s with you…”

_No!_

“Never once? Tell me you’ve never thought of me, Malcolm.”

_I-I’ve...I’ve never…_

Martin bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and Malcolm yelps. Martin sucks air through his teeth and grins, watching blood run down his chin.

“You can’t lie to me, Malcolm. Daddy always knows.”

He’s close. He doesn’t want to be close. Heat is building in his belly, and Martin brings him closer to the mirror, pushes him against it.

“Look at yourself. You’re going to come so pretty, aren’t you? Just for me. For Daddy. You’ve no choice.”

Malcolm feels like he’s squirming inside of his own mind, wherever he’s locked away, writhing and trying to take a breath to ground himself and unable to even do that. He can only stare at himself, at Martin’s evil in his own eyes.

_Please...please...just…_

“Just what? Don’t tell me to stop, my boy. Tell me what you want.”

_Mmm…_

“What’s that?” He breathes in deeply, as if knowing that’s the first thing Malcolm was going to ask for. It clears Malcolm’s thoughts, but not enough. It doesn’t bring him back, doesn’t stop him from feeling this. “What do you want, hmm?”

 _M...mmm._ He whines, desperately, and then finds himself begging, _more._

Martin shoves a third finger in, crooks them and digs them into Malcolm’s prostate. _“More?”_

_Christ—Dad—_

“That’s right. Oh, Malcolm, that’s it...enjoy this. I want you to enjoy this with me. I love you, Malcolm. I love you so much…”

He jerks him off faster, fucks him with his fingers, gasping, and it doesn’t make any sense, because Malcolm has done the same things to himself before and it's never felt like _this._ He can barely think anything at all anymore, at the edge—

“Call me what I want,” Martin grits out, stilling both hands. “What you want. Let me hear you.”

_D—ah—_

“Yes, yes, _yes, say it—_ ”

Malcolm can’t resist, there’s nothing he can do but sob, _Daddy!_ and cry out when Martin moves again, bringing him to orgasm with just a few more touches. He comes hard, his vision fizzing out to static, and hears his own gasps and keening as he spurts over the mirror.

His knees give, and Martin settles to the floor, bracing himself against the wall. As his sight starts to return, he can see his hand is trembling violently, and Martin lifts it, intrigued.

“Quite interesting,” Martin says, “that...wherever you are in there...your fear can still affect your body enough for this to get through.”

Malcolm can only stare. He can only feel like he’s dying, unable to make the sounds he needs to, to cry like he wants to, forced into reacting for only Martin to hear.

_W-what have you done?_

“Shush, my boy.” He reaches up, stroking soothingly through his hair. “It felt good, didn’t it? Of course it did. I would never make you feel anything less.”

_You...you’re…_

Martin looks into the mirror. He swipes a bit of drying come off his thigh and, to Malcolm’s horror, licks it off his finger, humming his appreciation.

“I’ll have you,” he says. “Fully. When I’m myself, you’ll come to me. And I’ll make you feel better than _Gil_ ever could."

_N-no...no, no, no…_

“Oh, it’s not an argument, my boy. And I can feel you know that. You’ll come to me. And...well. If you still want to pretend, I can give you a little guidance like I am today. If need be.”

He finally picks himself up, admiring the mirror’s image again, running a hand over Malcolm’s chest to make him whimper.

“But...speaking of Gil, we have more to do before we can get to that, don’t we?”

Malcolm has been trying to stay away from Martin’s thoughts, but he can, in some way, see them, too. He knows what Martin wants. He knows what Martin’s going to do.

And he knows there’s no way to stop it.

“Look at us,” Martin murmurs, leaning forward, and kissing the lips of the reflection. “We’re—”

 _We are_ not _the same!_

“Oh,” Martin chuckles darkly. He reaches up, grasping Malcolm’s chin. He forces him to look left, then right, then back. He raises his hand, presses it against the mirror. Cracks his neck, and smiles, showing teeth that look sharper than they should. Showing the full control he still has over him.

“I do believe, Malcolm...that we’re more the same now than ever before.”

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what this was but _this_
> 
> [prodigal songbirbs 🕊️](https://discord.gg/eQ3TK4bxn4)
> 
> is a server you should join 👀 (if you're 18+, ship and let ship, and want somewhere fun to hang out for season 2 with some cool people who don't shame you for your ships! more m/m shippers wanted and needed, always...💕)


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